I think I will do nothing now but listen,
To accrue what I hear into myself—to let sounds contribute toward me. 580
[26.1]
I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals;
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice;
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following;
[26.2]
Sounds of the city, and sounds out of the city—sounds of the day and night;
Talkative young ones to those that like them—the loud laugh of work-people at their meals; 585
The angry base of disjointed friendship—the faint tones of the sick;
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence;
The heave’e’yo of stevedoresunlading ships by the wharves—the refrain of the anchor-lifters;
The ring of alarm-bells—the cry of fire—the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts, with premonitorytinkles , and color’d lights;
The steam-whistle—the solid roll of the train of approaching cars; 590
The slow-march play’d at the head of the association , marching two and two,
(They go to guard some corpse—the flag-tops are draped with black muslin .)
[26.3]
I hear the violoncello (’tis the young man’s heart’s complaint;)
I hear the key’d cornet —it glides quickly in through my ears;
It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. 595
[26.4]
I hear the chorus—it is a grand opera;
Ah, this indeed is music! This suits me.
[26.5]
A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me;
The orbicflex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
[26.6]
I hear the train’d soprano —(what work, with hers, is this?) 600
The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies;
It wrenches such ardors from me, I did not know I possess’d them;
It sails me—I dab with bare feet—they are lick’d by the indolent waves;
I am exposed, cut by bitter and angry hail—I lose my breath,
Steep’d amid honey’d morphine , my windpipe throttled in fakes of death; 605
At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call BEING.
[26.7]
26.
I think I will do nothing now but listen,
To accrue what I hear into myself—to let sounds contribute toward me. 580
[26.1]
I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals;
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice;
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following;
[26.2]
Sounds of the city, and sounds out of the city—sounds of the day and night;
Talkative young ones to those that like them—the loud laugh of work-people at their meals; 585
The angry base of disjointed friendship—the faint tones of the sick;
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence;
The heave’e’yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves—the refrain of the anchor-lifters;
The ring of alarm-bells—the cry of fire—the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts, with premonitory tinkles , and color’d lights;
The steam-whistle—the solid roll of the train of approaching cars; 590
The slow-march play’d at the head of the association , marching two and two,
(They go to guard some corpse—the flag-tops are draped with black muslin .)
[26.3]
I hear the violoncello (’tis the young man’s heart’s complaint;)
I hear the key’d cornet —it glides quickly in through my ears;
It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. 595
[26.4]
I hear the chorus—it is a grand opera;
Ah, this indeed is music! This suits me.
[26.5]
A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me;
The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
[26.6]
I hear the train’d soprano —(what work, with hers, is this?) 600
The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies;
It wrenches such ardors from me, I did not know I possess’d them;
It sails me—I dab with bare feet—they are lick’d by the indolent waves;
I am exposed, cut by bitter and angry hail—I lose my breath,
Steep’d amid honey’d morphine , my windpipe throttled in fakes of death; 605
At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call BEING.
[26.7]
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